REBIRTH
by notanotherlovepage
Summary: I just can't let go of this book.
1. Lena

**REBIRTH**

Chapter one:

Hana was staring at me, still in her beautiful wedding dress, still wearing her hair pinned back, with a crown of tiny, plastic flowers resting on her head. Still wearing mascara and foundation, pale lipstick on her thick, voluminous lips, still resembling an angel.

But it was as if that angel was torn from the sky.

The dress was dirty and scratched on the bottom. Her hair was all messy and frizzed, though it managed to keep the crown and the pins. Mascara was running down her cheeks.

But none of those things were what got to me. A dark red, almost black spot was increasingly growing on the white cloth, just were her beating heart was. Her eyes showed pure fear. Fear and accusation. She was mumbling something, threatening me with the gaze, and as i tried to reach her, i realized where she was standing. But it was already too late.

The mayor's house blew up fiercely, as though it contained anger and hatred for too long, and finally let go. It happened in slow motion, though. I tried to grab Hanas hand, to get her out of there. She was standing on the porch. But as i was about to, Fred took her from the waist, dragged her inside, and only then, the great, massive and beautiful mansion gave away. I thought i heard someone screaming.

"Lena" A sudden shake on my shoulders was what managed to wake me up. I only realized after some minutes of taking long, profound breaths, that i was the one screaming. I could feel it in my sore throat.

"What happened? Is everyone okay?" I asked. My mother looked at me with a sad smile i didn't understand, and gave me a look almost pitiful, as if i was a hurt puppy, which made my guts twist a little. It's frustrating to suddenly be so taken care of, when most of my life, when i most needed it, i wasn't.

"You were dreaming again" My mom says. I scrub my eyes, trying to shake off the fog of a bad sleep, only to bring with it an acute headache, right above my left eye. I close my eyes exaggeratedly, and realize it has been a long while since i have drank some water.

"I'm going to get some air" I tell her. Suddenly the tent seems pretty claustrophobic. I start to open the fabric to let my self out, when i turn around to give a final look at Bee. "Oh, and mom," i say "thank you". And i go out.

Outside, the moon is bigger than usual. It gives away a bright, white light, as if it came from its own and wasn't just a reflexion of the sun. Starts are filling the sky, resembling those little familiar freckles on Hana's face when she over-exposes herself to the sun on a summer afternoon.

 _Hana._

The dream comes suddenly, rushing back, worsening my headache; Hanas terrifying, accusing look. Fred capturing her as if she was a mouse, taken by the claws of a horrific cat. The mansion blowing up in million little pieces of freedom, and at the same time, of tragedy.

The fact is, dream Hana is right. I _am_ guilty.

After all, we are the ones who put the bomb in there, knowing a family may be alive inside. We are the ones who took other peoples lives, even though it's our enemies. We are the ones who claim peace, but at the same time, spread hate.

It's not like i changed my mind. I'm still commited to the cause. I still think we should be let the option to choose, to love, to be free. I still believe we are the good side. But... are we? Are we still the good side if innocent people die in our hands? Are we still the good side if we are the ones who attack? Is there a good side _at all_? Can there really be mice and cats in a war?

The truth is, i already know my answer. I do know we are not the good side. Because in a war, such things do not exist. There are no mice and cats. We are all cats. And problem is; in a war, the strongest cat is the one who wins. And it's not always so obvious which cat that is.

We could lose anytime.

Thoughts keep ringing through my painful head, as i recognize one thing; all this doubt, all this anxiety, is only striking because i don't really know what happened to my ex-best friend. For all i know, she could have never gotten out. For all i know, the guards know she helped me, and managed to take her down themselves. For all i know, Hana is dead. Truth is, i don't know. And if there's something worse than bad news, is not having news at all.

I lift up my head to try to keep my nerves. I do this everytime i am upset; i look at the stars. I adquired this mechanism since the night Alex told me those bittersweet words; "there's a star for everything i love about you". Now i try to stare and look for those thing too; everything i love about me, or everything that i should.

Just like that, as if the stars had given their answer, a hand touches my arm gently, and there he is. Alex.

"Are you okay?" He asks. Time could have torn us apart, separate us as if we have never met, like to parallel lines that will never cross one another. But there he is, knowing me more than i know myself, noticing every time i show any sign of preoccupation. If only he knew, not even all of the stars and constellations in the universe could even start to resemble how much i love him.

"Just tired" I lie, even though i lay my head upon his shoulder, loving how we fit perfectly, like two pieces of an old, long lost puzzle that finally got to start to arrange itself.

Ever since the big riot, Portland has been nothing but hell. Not for us, though. For us it was just a strange view, like a horror or melodramatic movie we didn't pay to see. At least, not with money. Pieces of the wall are still turning to dust after two weeks. Children play around it, hitting it with branches of trees, still tearing it apart. So insignificant, so simple, as if it never meant nothing but a pile of cement. As if it wasn't what costed the war in the first place.

You could no longer identify people. Their ideals, i mean. Everyone was starting to get skinnier and dirtier. Anyone walking around here could be a part of the resistance, or an invalid, or just some citizen who lost his way, who had to start to build its future again. You could see people crying, grabbing one another. You could see mothers cleaning up their children. People kissing, hugging. Boys and girls holding hands. It was actually surprising how many people were longing to do that, but couldn't until now.

I turn my head to Alex, to look at his hazel eyes, so sweet and delicious i could almost taste them. I stare at them, i don't know how long, and only then i get it; i was looking in the wrong places. Nothing in this world could ever measure the _deliria_ he causes me. Not a billion stars, not zillion of constellations. Nothing but his eyes. It's like the universe is trapped somewhere in them, screaming to explode, to set itself free. It's like if my eyes and his had a secret language, a secret code nobody, not even us, could decipher. I get it now; there's nothing to understand about love, there's nothing to discover. It is just there, to feel it, and the only thing you can do, is give yourself in to it.

Suddenly all the anxiety, all that crushing feeling in my chest, all that uncertainty, fades away. I cannot ever be upset with him by my side, i _will_ not ever be upset. Because i know that sometimes, it's okay to not know your path. Sometimes you just have to keep moving, and hope your feet will take you were you belong. Sometimes you just have to hope. And until now, it has worked for me. Because i know that right now, with the love of my life standing next to me, staring at all the thing we love about me, there's no place i'd rather be.

I let a tiny, almost unperceptive, smile spread my mouth.


	2. Alex

Alex

The pain in my ribs is what wakes me up this time. Not the nightmares, not the paranoia, not the anxiety. Just pain.

I can instantly tell it's going to be hot today. I can tell what the weather is going to be like almost everyday. I guess you can call it a perk - the only perk about being shot in the thoracic cage. That shit hurts like hell.

Today, the pain is bad. It feels like a cockroach crawling within my lungs. Like a foreign object my body wants to get rid of, but is not really sure how. It _is_ a foreign object, actually; a bullet. I'm not really sure if gunpowder is supposed to disintegrate naturally after some time, but what i do know now, is that it is still there. That fucking cockroach.

That's how i know; today is gonna be a hot day. This pain usually means humidity. That kind of sticky, annoying moist that makes you think you didn't shove the towel up your ass properly after the shower. My bullet doesn't like this kind of days. Therefore, i don't like them either.

I open my tent, decided to bathe myself. I figured out the pain can be eased with cold. Cold distracts me from the pain. It works as 'an eye for an eye' kind of thing. Cause pain to distract you from pain. It is weird and mysterious how that can work, but it does, so i don't question it.

The river is my best option. It is about 500 meters north from here, and it is freezing cold, still adjusting itself to the change of season; exactly what i need. Portland could also be an option, though; it has been almost deserted since the massive riot. It doesn't have a mayor, nor a leader. Not even some random citizen trying to wash other peoples brain. It's just land now, uncertain of what is going to happen to itself.

People take advantage of this new free-regimen regimen. They go to Portland Center, a club stated fifty meters away from the walls, so it is near from us. They take showers and use decent bathrooms there. For some reason, water is still flowing through the pipes, as if it wasn't warned yet of what has happened. Everyday at noon the group will go and feel a little more human, doing normal, city-like stuff. Usually it's about fifty people per day, with two or three volunteers to guard them with guns. Of course, if somebody wants to go on their on, no one is there to stop them. People do as they please now. We don't stop anybody from doing what they want. After all, it's what all of this is about. People being free.

But everybody here knows no one is safe in loneliness. The feeling of safety comes only with company. They are not wrong.

It has only been two weeks, but we have already created a kind of system to take advantage of Portlands remains. Everyday, a smaller group of people -ten, to be exact- will go there and find supplies. The group, among others, consists of Tack and Julian. They take medicine, food; whatever is needed for the day. They take some Walkie Talkies we collected from regulators cars with them, so we can tell them what we need, and they can tell us if something is wrong.

This group has to be more careful; we have no idea what may be happening right now in the city. We know Portland Center is not dangerous; we have almost claimed it our own. But the city is different. Maybe there is people left right now. Who knows, maybe there _is_ some random citizen trying to wash peoples brain. Ever since, though, nothing out of place has happened... up until 3 days ago. On Sunday, the group took off at dawn, like any other day, but hasn't returned since. They won't answer the walkie talkies either, so people is starting to get worried.

Lena, in particular.

No one knows what will happen next. We could be expecting a bomb any minute now from further, powerful cities, blowing the remains of Portland and everything it left behind. We are literally next to the walls, so we are an easy target. I don't really get why are we not leaving. I guess we are trying to be consistent, trying to be strong. We are trying to appear fearless, defiant. Even if this means being in danger. It's as if we are trying to say _i'm here. If you want me, come and get me._

What is strange, is that it _didn't_ happen; no bomb, no army, not anyone has tried to disturb us. I'm not really sure of what it means, but if it means something, it is that things have changed. We, the invalids, are not only acknowledged now. We are seen as an actual danger. They are actually _afraid_ of us. This is terrific news for us, but it also means another thing; next attack we receive, will not be a game anymore. It will be big, bloody, horrible.

And we will respond.

Everybodys pleasure in going to Portland doesn't fit with me. There's no logical reason as to why i don't go. It is far nearer than the river, we have hot water, hell, we even have actual toilets. Best is, it is safe. But it is not about fear, it's about disgust. Portland disgusts me, since the time i spent in the Crypts. I promised myself when i escaped, that i would never step a foot there again.

I did, though, after i left the group, back when i handed Lena the letter. I started considering it after i started to hear the rumor back in Waterbury. It was just a rumor, but i couldn't help but hear; people were saying the biggest riot that would ever take place since the cure policy governed the United states, was happening in Portland. After two days, i started to prepare myself mentally for it. I knew i was going to go eventually, even before the plan of blowing up whatever was blocking the river took place. I wasn't sure anyways.

It was Lenas expression of fear what made me have the guts. The fear i caused her when i beat up Julian. I couldn't stand those sad eyes, because i recognized what the sadness was about; she understood that the Alex she knew back in Portland, her Alex, was gone. That was what pushed me. I wasn't going to be a burden for her anymore. I was when she thought i was dead, and when she realized i was alive, too.

I was a bastard, so i left.

It takes me 15 minutes to reach the river. When i see it - the water, the gentle fluid caressing the rocks as it leaves them behind, so peaceful you could stare at it forever, as if it was just a random but beautiful painting at some museum wall - i nearly trip from trying to run towards it. Ever since i left the Crypts, these are the things that reach to my heart; the simple, yet beautiful things we tend to ignore. The landscapes, the trees, the sun, the snow. The water.

I splash my face with it, and it feels like i had 3 cups off coffee in a row. The water is so cold it stings in my face, like a million little needles pinching my skin. But i love it. It makes me _feel_. That's another thing i learned in the Crypts; whatever causes something deep inside me, whatever makes me realize i'm alive, is worth it.

That's why i love Lena so much. She makes me feel everything i have never felt before. She makes me furious, as a lion being defied. She makes me sad, as a mother who lost her child. She makes me happy, as a dog welcoming its owner. She _makes_ me.

I realize i have been staring at my reflection in the water. I realize also its has been a really long time since i could actually look at myself. Suddenly, i feel disgusted. I can't stand my reflection. The little waves the water keeps creating, disfiguring my face, are not helping. But that's not what catches my attention. Its the scar. I never had a chance to look at it. I would always touch it when i was anxious. I would trace it with my fingers, to see how it was healing. But i never really knew how it looked... until now. And its horrible. It is a big bold crest crossing my face, starting on my jaw, going all the way up to my left eyebrow. I remember how i got it. It's funny how it doesn't relate to a guard. Anyone would fairly think somebody did this to me. But the true story is, i kind of did it to myself.

It was the day Lena escaped;

I was taken to the police car after Lena took off. I just couldn't stop staring at the fence - i was so purely glad she made it. I didn't give a damn what would happen to me. Hell, i'd do that Crypts shit all over again if that meant keep her safe. Only when the car was starting to move, i realized what was happening. A bullet had gone through my chest and i was hardly breathing, so the guards probably thought i was about to die - if not dead. But with every last bit of energy i had left, i pushed my elbow fiercely through the window, and teared it into pieces. I took the biggest chunk of glass i could find, and went straight to the co-pilot. I don't really know what i was expecting; i know that police cars have the front and back seats divided by a glass wall. Maybe the unconsciousness was playing tricks on me, and my imagination did the rest, but i could have sworn there was no glass at all; it was just a rapid move, and i would be free, running with Lena to the Wilds...

But the glass took my force and returned it, almost mocking me, as if it was saying _who do you think you are?_ , and the glass in my hand went through all of my face, and then everything went black.

I wonder what Lena thought when she saw me after all the time we had been apart, back in the warehouse; with a scar on my face almost screaming at her. With a pale, heartbroken look, blaming her. But with sad, desperate eyes, begging her; begging her to let go of that man, and come kiss the hell out of me.

I wonder if she knows i have a bullet in my chest.


	3. Lena (2)

**Lena**

"Alex?" I call. I notice how he flinches a little at my voice. I guess he was too sank up in his thoughts. He turns to look at me, and the shiny, bright green of the grass makes him look like a painting. We are lying on the ground, just a few feet from the camp, but enough to give us privacy. The ground is a little elevated here, and it is hidden from everything and everyone by really tall trees, as if they were out personal guards, taking gentle care of our secrecy. But it is the big, ancient tree just above us which made us pick this place; when you lay on its roots, it's as if it was taking care of you. As if it was giving you a giant, reassuring hug, making you feel the safest you have ever been. There is nothing more beautiful than laying here at a cloudy sunset, looking at it's leaves, which appear as a light gray in contrast with the sky; my favorite color.

"Yes, Lena?" Alex answers with a gentle voice. Now he is the one who startles me, and i go back to the question i was gonna ask him.

"Do you want to have kids someday?" I say, innocently. He stares at me with a sudden look of surprise and concern i didn't get at first. Then i realize how the question must have resonated in his mind. "Oh! I mean, not with me of course, well, not if you don't want to, but, it's - it's not like i don't want to, but i-"

"Chill, Lena," he laughed, stopping my nonsense mumbling "i get what you mean." he reassures, which makes me relax a little. "That's a really good question, actually" he says. "I haven't really thought about it"

He turned to look at the sky, with a thoughtful expression. I let him sink in his thoughts again, and i take advantage of the situation, admiring his semblance; his nose making an almost perfect line up to its end, with a minimum, almost undecipherable breaking at the bridge, which makes it kind of cute and somehow, realistic. The corner of his tired eyes, forming three lines at the start of it, making him look older than he really is. His long, think black eyelashes, too black in contrast with his autumn-leaves hair, so voluminous he could be easily be fooling me and be wearing mascara at this very moment. The slight corner of his lip, heading down, appearing him as slightly sad, even though you would say he's everything but afflicted when you see his smile. I cannot help a tiny smile on my own watching him. He's everything I've ever dreamed of.

"I'm not really sure", he says, throwing me back into reality. "I don't think i want to bring a brand new life into this hideous world."

This answer makes my gut twist a little. I never really knew how Alex sees the world. I never knew he felt this way. I hadn't really taken the time to think about it, but it makes sense; when you have been tortured, beaten, damaged and screwed by life and nobody is there to give a damn, you just gotta have something to blame. You have to think there is something responsible for your disgraces. It is just a twisted way of believing in something, somehow. Because when you believe in something, no matter how sick it is, there is something you can hold on to. And with belief comes hope; the hope of being able to change whatever is making you miserable.

"Makes sense" I just answer.

"Lena!" I heard in the distance. I turn around to see Grace stand some feet away from us. That's another perk of this spot; people get that it is _ours_. At least, when we are in it. Every time we are here, people get that it's our time, and that we shouldn't be interrupted. Besides, almost everybody knows our story, what we have been through. If somebody reaches us while we are here, they might as well be interrupting a couple therapy session.

I turn around, now sitting, to glance at Alex. He understands what the look means, and we both stand up. We will continue our session later on.

I head to Gracie, to see now that she has been crying. I walk faster towards her now, and knee down when i reach her, i embrace her with my arms, worried, and she lets a cry out of her chest. I might as well be her mother now. I've never felt so beautifully responsible of another person in my life.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" I ask in a sweet voice, although i already know the answer; she is worried. Worried about Julian.

"I- I thought they were coming back today. I was hoping i would wake up and he would be there to hug me. I-" She mumbles though her tears.

"I know Gracie, i know. I miss him too." I say. Now i feel like i could be the one crying. A knot is building in my throat, but i keep it together. I have to be strong for Grace. "He will come back any minute now. You will see." I try to reassure her. But the fact is, i'm not so sure about that anymore.

The same day we teared down the walls, we settled down next to it's remains to camp and plan what we are going to do next. It was supposed to be temporary, but people is already decorating their spaces, with flowers, rocks and even pictures they managed to bring from the city, almost as if they were moving in for good.

UPDATE: I didn't finish this chapter. I wanted to upload it so it doesn't get lost in the oblivion lol but lost the hype for the book in the middle of writing this. Sorry!


End file.
